Equanimity
by Shaposhit
Summary: The famed prosecutor's daughter returns to L.A. for mysterious personal reasons but finds that the more she learns about herself, the less she likes it...and the more she likes Adrian Andrews. Franziska/Adrian.


**If I must.** All characters belong to Capcom and the makers of the Phoenix Wright games, not me. _I merely poor Russian girl borrowing to give example what should and must be revealed about characters future games involving_. Please?

**Contents warning: rated T for strong language and non-explicit adult themes. Author warning: girl/girl slash. Author recommendation: Edy's/Breyer's vanilla frozen yogurt with sprinkles, in a cup.**

Any resemblance to real persons living or dead is entirely coincidential and the author apologizes for any such coincidences. Pay attention, Jessica, I'm talking to you.

* * *

Franziska von Karma did not particularly like to listen to the radio.

Or, at least, this is what she would like the world to believe. She was, unfortunately, a "closeted shower singer", though not a very good one, and her ultimate dream in life was to drive a dark blue convertible with the top down, blasting europop music and singing along at the top of her lungs as the words were whipped away by a pleasantly chilly breeze. She was certain that she could never allow this to happen - it would completely destroy her image as a perfectly focused person. For some reason, the idea of wanting to "let go" and be a "normal person", to "get in the groove", as they say, was like forbidden fruit to her. She was constantly aware of the naggling tickle in the back of her mind, but she was a strong person and would not give in so easily to a temptation.

No living soul could ever know that she, too, had foolish weaknesses. For example, the weakness of being a terrible dancer, or the weakness of sometimes drifting over to the left as her mind wandered when she drove. One that could truly bring her down in the eyes of her rivals and her father's memory: the weakness of truthfully, not being as competent a prosecutor as she claimed to be. On a broader scale, the typical foolish, foolish human weakness for milkshakes, the weakness of wanting to have friends and more-than-friends, and the weakness of not being able to do very many push-ups.

Franziska's eyes narrowed as she pondered these liabilities, stuck in the infamous L.A. traffic of commuters and urbanites, and her fingers twitched for the radio knob. Contenting herself with instead gripping her whip until her knuckles turned white, she gazed straight ahead at the foolish backup of foolishly eager fools, each one more determined than the last that _he _reach his destination faster than the line of cars ahead of and behind him.

She passed a billboard featuring a group of attractive young people who seemed immensely excited to all be enjoying the same brand of beer. An aching beat pulsed behind her eyes as the desperation of inaction consumed her, and she turned reflexively to plotting as though to take her mind off the frusturatingly immobile line of cars stretching ahead.

_I will no longer be a poor prosecutor once I exact my revenge on my enemies - the future must erase the past. _

_My painfully scrappy record is only in this horrible American city of never-ending heat and frivolity. Of course I am not the same prosecutor I was two years ago - I was barely more than a girl - and those two years have been full of study and experience the likes of which no American court has seen from me yet._

_Mr. Phoenix Wright has been granted luck as I have been granted ill fate. He has been lucky to uncover the truth, helped along by persons more intelligent than he._

_What a fool! He even gave away an innocent verdict (_Farewell, My Turnabout_) he could have easily taken. And my poor luck to have not been able to convince the paramedics that I was, in fact, fine and I could most definitely prosecute right away. It was his foolish "compassion" that drove him to soil his own record, and I shall exploit that weakness in the future!_

_Hah! Friends. That foolish moron Phoenix Wright. I need no friends. The purpose of friends must be to supply a quality one finds lacking in themself, yet I must be perfect and thus need none. In this arena at least I am superior. This shall be my salvation._

A tiny giggle escaped Franziska's lips as she imagined her eventual win over the foolish Mr. Phoenix Wright. The whole courtroom would realize how right, how _perfectly _she had made her case, how she had, without one moment of insecurity, _eradicated _any doubt in the validity of the guilty verdict. The suspect would be charged and taken away, yes...but this was not an important part of her fantasy. It was not about any trivial persons - the person charged with murder or the true murderer - for Franziska would never see nor contemplate the facts of the case once the verdict had been dropped. It was the verdict that mattered - and that verdict would always be "guilty". _That_ was justice, justice spun around her teasing finger.

Soon the exit was in sight, and she maneuvered the car masterfully into the correct lane though the average speed on the roadway was still less than a painfully incompetent jogger offered a bagel at the completion of his run. There were several honks, but Franziska's daydream lingered on her face as a grin. A large man guestured angrily for her to roll down her window. The German girl was slightly confused by his actions, expressing her emotions as a typical icy glare. Didn't Americans typically use the pointer finger to motion?

Nonetheless, she complied by rolling the right window down, if only because her whip could not penetrate glass. She'd had to specially request this car to be available upon her return to the U.S. - she preferred the English make, with the driver on the right, which made her defeat at Phoenix Wright's hands in the Mimi Miney case all the more embarassing.

"You're not in Vienna anymore, girlie!" The man shouted gruffly at her, honking. "We have manners in this country!"

"Oh, really?" The prosecutor replied cooly, a smiling threat playing on her face_. I suppose this English car is really obvious. Or rather, my superior driving skills. _"I don't see any."

"Look here, you -" _Do not__ dare to call me a "road Nazi". Not funny._

"Mr. Gruff Car Man," Franziska explained calmly. "Do you see this whip? It shall swipe a streak of paint off your automobile before you can say 'brand-spanking-new $50,000 Audi'."_ And the man in the _Audi_ criticizes European automotive practices__. How ironic._

With perfect timing, she took her exit.

Driving through the all-too-familiar L.A. streets, Franziska realized the sun was already going down. It was February, after all, though in Southern California the air was pleasant and the idle chatter of people on the sidewalks only slightly _un_pleasant, so she left the window down. One pale hand hung casually over the right sill. She had been caught off guard by the warm breeze - Franziska was strangely relaxed although she knew she ought to be contemplating the case research ahead of her. And indeed, not only the case, but a much more important, more _personal _matter. Nevertheless, the gentle sun filtered through the window on her face, and though she did not realize it, Franziska was humming something soft and cheerful.

Ridiculously innocent young people - though truly no younger than herself - laughed and chatted at cafés and began to stand in line at bars and restaurants. Perhaps they were university students, or just teenagers trying out fake IDs. Wondering at the thickness of the crowds, Franziska glanced at the car clock and saw that it was already after 5:00. _Ah, yes, and on a Friday no less._

This meant that on her way to the hotel, Franziska would have to endure the pumping of irresistable music from the clubs and bars that were far too common near her swanky downtown hotel. Of course, she would not visit that establishment until she had started her investigation. The pleasant chatter of the crowds was suddenly more of a distraction than a lulling background noise, and she quickly re-rolled the window as her hand withdrew from the flowery breeze to grip her whip. She was not here to go out with friends and enjoy herself, to relax in the afternoon sun. She was here to get an undoubtably "guilty" verdict for a murderer, and of course to sort out her own matters. That murderer's record of crime would be unearthed in a precise, von Karma-perfect manner in no time, and Franziska would be free to formulate her argument that would win her the "guilty", and then to arrange her personal affairs. A perfectly efficient plan.

However not all was perfect.

"What do they _mean_, it closes at 5:30?"

Of course she had not accounted for the traffic. And the library, holy hall of digging up information on foolish fools who foolishly left a fool's record of their foolish actions, would not stay open, even for her whip. The locked doors did not care if she lashed them. _I MUST start my work today! Otherwise there will be no time left after the case to...attend to matters!_

A tiring day even for a perfect prosecutor. Frustruation overcame her. Franziska had not slept at all the previous night nor on the plane, and nor had she eaten in the same amount of time. Another foolish weakness to defeat: airsickness. She slumped by the brick library wall, head in hands, as though her fingers could soothe the pounding frustration behind her eyes. She gazed down at her elegant vest as her sight fuzzed in and out of focus - not from tears, but from fatigue. Her head spun like a figure skater performing an incredibly well-demonstrated flying camel-back sit-sit-Y spin. "Shit..." she murmured to herself, feeling a small release of tension at letting the curse escape from her lips. "_Shit_...I'm an _idiot_...worse than that Mr. Phoenix Wright..."

How she longed for someone to take the case out of her hands, to relieve her of her cumbersome duties, to wipe her sweaty brow and tell her "It is okay, Franziska, you've done enough." _Hah!_ As though anyone in her entire life had treated her so gently, with genuine kindness. As though it were possible for someone to have anything to offer, to be able to help Franziska von Karma. As though she, independent and perfectly composed, would need or want such help. As though anyone would want to give it.

She was startled out of her reverie by a sound, an unmistakeably human noise, though she longed to believe it was a bird who would not bother her. Franziska quickly straightened up, ignoring the whirl of dizziness inside her head, and hoped she looked like a perfectly normal prosecutor who was just simply a little bit late arriving to research a crime and was, perhaps, a _little _bit angry at the turn of events. There was _no way _anyone, even a mere civillian fool, would witness Ms. Franziska von Karma succumbing to the human weaknesses of fatigue and frustration.

"_...here I go again, my my, just how much I missed ya_...Oh!" The person rounded the bend, white MP3 cords dangling like a necklace from behind the girl's curtain of honey-colored hair. The girl's face was surprisingly familiar, and also pretty, in a "I mean business" sort of way. "Ms. von Karma! I just wrote you a couple days ago, but I never thought I'd run into you here."

"Ah, hello..." Franziska paused for breath, unfolding herself from her crumpled position at the base of the wall. She took a moment to compose herself, not daring to look the intruder in the eye for fear she would recognize and condemn Franziska's moment of weakness. It was terribly coincidential to meet like this, and horribly pleasing at that. "Adrian Andrews."

They had been in contact, of course, though mostly through letters with an occasional phone call, so there had been no face-to-face contact for a full year. Adrian smiled and extended a hand for Franziska to shake. As she moved away from the brick wall to take the other girl's hand, and lost the support of the steady structure, Franziska's fatigue-induced vertigo returned, and she stumbled, completely missing the other woman's politely offered handshake. That familiar, almost ethereal sensation that her head was not attached to her neck swooped through her body, and Franziska clutched the wall for support. She closed her eyes. She did not know if she was still standing, but desperately hoped it was so.

"A-are you alright, Ms. von Karma?" The young prosecutor had forgotten Ms. Andrews was there.

"I am fine. I was just struck with vertigo..." Franziska shook her head and opened her eyes, focusing on the horizon line rather than Adrian's face in order to balance. "It happens occasionally. Do not worry."

"Oh no, that must be difficult. Is it a blood sugar thing? Would a muffin help? I've got one in my purse..."

They moved to a nearby bench as the sun began to truly disappear from view. Franziska desperately wished for her head, which was still spinning slightly, to calm down so she could shoo off Adrian and return to her hotel to begin planning the investigation which now must be inconveniently postponed to tomorrow. However she feared that if she attempted to stand at this moment, she might faint...instead she occupied herself with unwrapping the muffin and withdrawing a handkerchief from an inner pocket, systematically blotting the grease from every crevice of the muffin. It was banana-nut flavored. If only she could eat it...she hoped Adrian would leave. Now. Franziska did not like other people watching her actions, especially something so embarassingly imperfect like eating. Her discomfort nearly shimmered in the air around her, a near-tangible heat blur.

But Adrian wanted to make small talk. _Ugh..._"It really is good to see you again...so how is Germany?"

"We are not planning another World War if that is what you are thinking," Franziska replied brusquely, gritting her teeth.

To her surprise, this caused Adrian to burst out laughing. She tilted her head back and let rip, seeming not to care if she was acting too casually with a near-stranger. Adrian seemed so very carefree, so confident that Franziska was put at ease and nearly giggled herself - Adrian's joy was infectious. Suddenly, sitting on a bench and talking with a friend seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do - it was a pleasant, breezy evening with tulips in the wind and the promise of a California winter rain the next day. Franziska sighed as the tension in her shoulders melted away, the dizzy thump in her temples subsiding. It was good to laugh, to let go of stress for a moment. Adrian's laughing fit had caused the girl's glasses to go askew, though she seemed not to notice. Feeling as though she had known Adrian much longer than she truly had, as though they had been childhood friends or long-time pen pals, Franziska reached out reflexively to right the glasses...

"Hey, it's Adrian A.!" A man shouted from the sidewalk next to the library. He rode a single-gear bicycle, which he turned through the library gate, gliding towards the pair on the bench. He seemed ordinary enough, clad in a flannel shirt, dark jeans, and Birkenstocks. "It's been a while, Ms. 'manager to the stars'!"

"You know I'm not doing that anymore, Jared," Adrian chided, though she looked pleased to see him, and stood to accept his high-five greeting. The work-anxiety returned to Franziska's shoulders as she tensed, sensing the familiarity between Adrian and the bicycle man. There was something untenably suspicious about this Jared man's face. Perhaps it was the goatee, which as a general rule the German prosecutor highly disapproved of. "Haven't seen you since, well, for a long time...you don't go dancing anymore?"

"Well, not at that old club we used to favorite!" Jared chuckled, shaking his head at the apparent unworthiness of the _club they used to favorite_. "I've got a new scene, chickadee, or did you not hear? And who's this? Don't tell me you've turned around too!"

"What?" Adrian asked, confused. "No, I didn't hear anything about your new clubbing thing. This is..." she turned to Franziska.

"I am Franziska von Karma, prosecutor." Franziska said abruptly. She did not know what to think about Jared...she was not the most empathetic person, and she had not ever considered the possibility that people she knew had lives outside of the courtroom, outside of what they discussed with her. How did Adrian know this Jared character? Who was he, to be interrupting the only peaceful moment she'd had in years?

"You're not from around here, are ya?" Jared asked, motioning at Franziska's chest. She looked down, shocked, and realized he meant her unusual clothing choices. She turned to Adrian.

"Please explain my situation to your friend."

"What? I don't even know why you're here yet, Fra-" Adrian protested, but Franziska cut her off.

"Just do it," she hissed quietly, glaring . Of course she did not want to explain her own personal life to a near-stranger whom she did not particularly like. However, she also had a hidden alterior motive which must not be revealed in the presence of this unworthy man. She must take care to later explain to Ms. Andrews the rationale for her harshness - for some reason, Franziska felt it was necessary to be polite on this evening to the strangely generous person who had offered her a muffin. Yet it soured her stomach to think of having been witnessed nearly fainting, like some immature girl who swooned at a little hardship.

Adrian turned back to Jared, a bemused and slightly annoyed expression gracing her brows. She sighed, strands of light-colored hair fluttering in the exhalation. "Ms. von Karma is here from Germany...but we just met up now so I don't know why she's come to LA."

Jared briefly made eye contact with Franziska's threatening stare before shrugging his shoulders and briefly squeezing Adrian's shoulder. Franziska felt her head give a little twirl of exhaustion as she followed his motion with minimal head movement. "Well, I'd better get going...ladies," he said, gazing at Adrian with an expression that was part sarcasm and part remorse at not being able to chat with his old friend. He began to walk his bicycle back towards the street, but stopped and turned back to Adrian, eyebrows raised. He jerked his head towards Franziska and mouthed, "'_Bitch."_

"Ms. von Karma, what on earth was that?" Adrian demanded once Jared had hopped on his bicycle and pedaled out of sight. There was a small current of anger in her voice though her shoulders curled inward as though she were intimidated by the prosecutor's harsh demeanor.

Franziska could feel herself grinning, even as a blush of embarassment warmed her cheeks. _I must make her understand. I feel it is important to resolve this matter, no matter the consequences to my dignity...here goes..._ Adrian's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the prosecutor's smile. "Ms. Adrian Andrews, you will understand once I explain. However, there is a disclaimer..."

Adrian seemed utterly frusturated. "Jared used to be a close friend, you know, and that little incident was pretty rude to him. I would have liked to talk to him...actually he was my..."

"I do not want to hear it, Adrian Andrews. I say there is a disclaimer: you must speak to no one about what I am about to disclose to you."

The expression on Adrian's face belied her curiosity, despite her attempts to mimic Franziska's famous glare. Upon realizing that Adrian was attempting to be stern and forceful, Franziska felt her little smile deepen involuntarily. _You are a weak - no, _delicate_ - woman, Ms. Andrews, and would do better to understand your place as such, _Franziska almost said aloud, but felt it would only hurt her case, if she were trying prove herself a cultured, not crude, member of society. In her mind, the words were teasing yet not harsh, though she knew they would not sound as such if she spoke them. _Making pleasant fun of someone, Franziska? And trying simultaneously to be curteous to them? This is a fool's path, not your typical behavior. Obvously you truly have deprived yourself of rest - you must not make that mistake again for it pollutes your action pattern._

Adrian's words brought the prosecutor back to earth. "Yeah, yeah, I agree to tell no one - for real this time. Even if it gets me charged with murder."

Franziska did not laugh. If only she had been there to see that trial through, to guide her insecure witness...! She would ignore this latest piece of "testimony", as it were, in an attempt to gloss over what she had nearly done to the delicate woman sitting so vulnerably beside her, bare-shouldered and emitting an innocence that Franziska was sure would attract only the harmful sort of attention in a typical public situation, much less the unforgiving courtroom.

"Adrian Andrews. This is the reason I did not tell your friend from where I hail..." she spoke in a very hushed voice, so quiet that Adrian moved closer to hear, as they sat on that same park bench. Franziska realized she was practically whispering into the other girl's ear, as though they were close friends, or lovers, and the prosecutor found her buffed black boots very interesting to examine at this time. It was quite unusual to be in such proximity to another person - in fact Franziska could not remember the last time (if there _was_ a last time) anyone had been so close to her or hugged her. The discarded muffin lay on her handkerchief, untouched, by her feet. "I am cherman."

"What?" Adrian exclaimed. They were so close that Adrian's outburst made Franziska flinch, her knee bumping Adrian's in shock. "Oooh, sorry."

"I-I said," Franziska continued, cheeks burning with humiliation. _Ugh, and the added shame of showing I am ashamed...! What a painful paradox._ "I am cherman, ja? I...I cannot say a hard '_G_'."

"Wh-what?" Adrian's jaw dropped comically, though she spoke more quietly this time. "But your accent is perfect!"

Franziska blushed again, this time at recieving the praise she craved rather than shame at her inadequacy. It was a more pleasant, gentle heat than the previous flame of humiliation upon her face. "It is the last vestige," she said, pronouncing the word with a soft "G."

"Oh...oh my goodness. Say 'jello'."

"Chello?"

"Ha ha! Say 'pyjamas'!"

"No! What is this word that you Americans call my country? This is a cruel cross to inflict upon an entire nation of people, being forced to explain time and time again that we simply cannot pronounce the name you give us! At home it is "_Deutschland"_...what is "_l'allemania"_? _Who_ on earth comes _up_ with this utter foolishness?"

"That is quite rude," Franziska admonished as Adrian cracked up again, doubling over in her gaiety, but she found that, in fact, she was laughing as well. It was quite easy to laugh, as the sun set before this park bench, with tulips in the air and her briefcase out of sight, beneath the bench. The whole thing was indeed rather humorous, she found, even though the hard "G" was one of Franziska's dreaded "foolish weaknesses." Adrian cackled beside her, her curtain of honey-blonde hair swishing with the movement of her head, and her own soft laughing felt surprisingly comfortable. She did not feel "undignified." She did not even feel fatigued anymore, as though the laughter had revived her - it was almost as though the park bench was an alternate universe in itself, cloaked in floral aromas and evening peace.

The raucous fit of laughing beside Franziska eventually petered out to become the occasional chuckle, shaking Adrian's frame. It seemed as though there were no need to ever move from this spot, no pile of paperwork awaiting her, as Franziska watched a V of birds flutter across the slowly darkening sky. How nice it was to rest, to hear a woman's amusement ring through the tulip-scented air, to feel the gentle brush of Adrian's leg that she swung absently back and forth beneath the bench. Adrian's breath moved in the same contended rhythm, her arm dangling lazily over the wooden back of the bench.

"I just can't believe it," Adrian murmured. "You're so perfect. And yet...!"

The occasional brush of the other girl's leg against her own became a steady pressure, Adrian's ankle locked over hers as their knees pressed together. Absently, she wondered if she would fall if she attempted to stand, her tights-sheathed leg wrapped around Adrian's. Lost in thoughtlessness, she felt Adrian's fingers on her back, light as spiders as they caressed her wingbones through the heavy vest she always wore. Her eyes shot open, and she stood suddenly, ignoring the little dizzy-lights dancing around the corners of her vision from the abrupt movement, and the tingling lights running across her back.

"Ms. Adrian Andrews."

"Ah - what?" It appeared Adrian had nearly fallen asleep. She removed her glasses to rub her eyes, and glanced around as though lost in the moonlight.

"It is already dark and I must return to my hotel in order to prepare my materials for the investigation tomorrow," the prosecutor said brusquely. _I am sorry, _Franziska thought, but did not speak. Rationally, she had nothing to apologize for. It was truly late and she really did have to work tonight as well as tomorrow. She spoke nothing but _the truth_.

"Oh..." Adrian appeared to want to say something, but it was plain she did not know what to say. "Are you...here for a case?"

"In a manner of speaking. There is a case in...at home...that involves a suspect who lived here for many years. I am investigating the background information as I cannot trust the local detectives to do an adequate job. Actually..." Franziska paused. Even before she had run into Adrian this night, she had thought it might come to this. Was this a move that the prosecutor would berate herself over that night, regretting that she had admitted weakness? Probably. Was it the wisest choice given her rather unique circumstances? Also probably. "I might need an assistant...someone very familiar with the locale. To speed the investigation."

"You want me to help you?"

"Yes, you foolish girl. Here is the address of the office I will be at - be there at 9:00 sharp or consider the agreement terminated."

...

Slam. Slam. Slam, briefcase leather against wooden doorframe. Oh, how she hated herself. The shame of vulnerability...one more for good measure...

Slam. Franziska's briefcase broke open on the last impact. She stared in disbelief as her impeccably clean files and pens spilled out onto the questionably hygenic hotel kitchenette tiles. For what seemed like the millionth time that day, she was overcome with waves of the urge to just give up...to hang her head...to cry like the foolish baby she truly was. Instead, she forced herself to begin shuffling through the crisp papers, re-alphabetizing and aligning them. On autopilot, Franziska placed one desired file on the false-granite countertop and poured herself a glass of water. She sat at the stool, marking up the typed sheet with a blue ballpoint as she planned her investigation the next day. Very professional. Organized. Everything was in its place.

So why did the accomplished Prosecutor von Karma feel like a 15-year-old, back at school cramming for an exam? As though the sheet were not a professional file of utmost importance to a real man's fate, but a notebook sheet full of hastily scrawled psychology notes...as though the glass that cooled a small ring on her right forearm bubbled with the threatening vanilla fuzz of Diet Coke rather than simple flat water...as though the AC's hum was the buzz of her illicit headphones, lying close to her where she could pull the plug and shove them under her desk should Papa come in.

_What a terrible time. If only I could outrun my memory..._

There was a warm presence in the room, watching over Franziska's shoulder as she struggled to concentrate on the words swimming in front of her. It stood behind her, chuckling as it read her thoughts. Invisible hands pressed her head to the cool countertop, a silent breath fluttering her eyelids shut, the rush of sleep like a song in her ear...

_"I will sacrifice - all I have in life_

_To clear my conscience_

_I will sacrifice, sacrifice..."_

_She was sitting on a deluxe brown leather couch, legs crossed as she leaned back casually. Beneath her own heeled boots she could see a little Oriental coffee table that held two identical glasses full of something bubbly and almost definitely alcoholic. She turned. Behind her was a stone library wall, and further to the left, a wild-looking marsh filled with wild garlic and cattails. She turned to her right, and was not surprised to see a 12-year-old Franziska von Karma sitting on the couch next to her._

* * *

Sorry, children. I've got one more chapter further written and somehow this silly fic seems to change themes on me as I write it, so the title/description/earlier chapters may be edited at my whim.

Stay tuned for: dream sequences, flashbacks, a total lack of subtlety, and Machiavelli quotes.


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